


Fever Pitch

by Fibonaccii



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Healing, Jason doesn't know how to do feelings, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 10:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15386403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fibonaccii/pseuds/Fibonaccii
Summary: Jason is burning up from the inside out, and the only thing that soothes him is Tim. When Tim gets hurt, though, Jason leaves before he can do more damage than he's already done. But it turns out leaving someone you love behind has unexpected, horrible consequences.





	Fever Pitch

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "I Just Want To Feel Warm Again," by ImpulsivelyBlue. Telling Jason's side of the story.

Jason is on fire. He’s burning from the inside out, the fire of the explosion that took his life smoldering like hot coals pressed up against his heart. It keeps him moving, and at the same time it scorches him from the inside and fills his lungs with the acrid smoke of rage and hate. The flames lick at his ribs and make his body heat until he feels sweat trickle down his back like acid and his vision blur over with red.

The fire works to consume Jason from the inside out, but he fights it. He doesn’t want the rage that constantly wears him down to burn those around him. He’s trying so hard to integrate back into the family, but he constantly has to fight to keep this monstrous anger inside. Sometimes it makes him feel crazy, though, Lazarus pit crazy. It makes him feverous, makes him see things that aren’t there. He sees enemies in his brothers, he sees danger in a gentle squeeze of the hand, and he hears hidden barbs in the Dick’s encouraging words. It’s a fear and anger that boils on his skin and makes him want to cut into his own flesh to dig out whatever it is that makes him burn this way. Jason fears it’s his own heart.

He goes through his life trying to swallow back the pain and the rage and channel it in the best way possible, but it always burns inside him.

That is, except for when he’s with Tim.

Tim reaches out and grips Jason’s wrist with his slender fingers and suddenly a desperate breath of cool air runs through Jason’s lungs. It’s like Tim is made of gentle snow with his pale skin and blue eyes, and every brush of his eyes or grip of Tim’s hand on his shoulder sends calming, cool signals and soothes the anger that before burned unchecked.

Suddenly, he can think and he can draw in breathes that don’t singe his throat and suddenly he doesn’t see an enemy in everyone. The closer Jason draws Tim in, the more Tim soothes his burning soul. So Jason draws him in as close as possible, until their bodies press together and their lips meet. They have never been brothers, but it hasn’t been clear _what_ they were until now, when they hold onto each other for dear life. They are ying and yang, black and white, fire and ice. When they come together, Jason finds a balance he desperately needed in his life. Those first few weeks are perfect.

Then, as time goes on and Jason moves in with Tim, Jason begins to see things he hadn’t noticed before. He sees the way Tim sometimes chafes with Bruce and Dick almost as much as he does. Now that Tim and Jason are together both figuratively and literally more, he is there to see how Tim will change his patrol route to avoid the others, or how Tim can’t seem to look Bruce in the eyes anymore. He sees Tim seem to not notice how much he drowns himself in his workload. Tim will work all day at the office, come home and settle in for hours to work on files on his computer, and then head out for patrol without stopping to catch his breath. Whenever he can, Jason will try to get Tim to sleep after that. Sometimes he can. Sometimes Jason will have to actually drag Tim away from his computer, trying to distract him with lips on his neck or fingers crawling up Tim’s shirt.

Sometimes it works. Then there are times where Tim will growl and shake him off, and Jason just can’t get him to slow down. Those nights, Jason goes to bed alone and the old heat creeps back in. He’ll toss and turn, and if he’s lucky, an hour or two later Tim will slip in. With Tim in his arms, the fire quiets, but it doesn’t die. Jason feels the familiar rage simmering like coals within his heart. When he closes his eyes, he tries to pretend that it isn’t there. The heat follows him to his dreams.

Dreams about his death are nothing new, and so he is never surprised when he drifts off only to find himself buried under burning rafters, suffocating in the heavy smoke that clings to his skin and grips his throat like two pale hands. Jason lashes out at anything, everything, trying to get the crushing pressure off his chest, trying to find a breath of air, trying to claw his way out of the earth.

Some nights, Tim has to wake him when the thrashing becomes too much and Jason’s whimpering escalates into crying. Some nights, Tim can’t restrain him. Those nights are the worst. One night, Jason dreams that he is left unburied after his death, and the birds come with their beady eyes glowing Joker green to peck away at him. They stab and rip at his arms, his torso, his face with beaks that burn with that _damn fire_ that he just can’t ever seem to leave behind. He can’t do anything but scream and burn; he can’t move, can’t fight, can’t _escape_ —

_Crack!_ Jason wakes with a cry, tears streaming down his face. _What—who—_ Jason’s knuckles are white where they are gripped around the neck of the metal lamp he clutches. It’s heavy in his hands, and it takes him a terrible, too-long moment to realize what happened. It isn’t until he hears a soft groan from the floor by the bed that he fully comes back to his senses.

_Tim_.

Jason drops the lamp and scrambles out of bed, dropping to the floor by Tim who lies too still, sprawled back. There is blood seeping from his hairline, where Jason bashed him with the lamp. Jason runs his fingers through Tim’s hair to find the wound, and when he finds it, he swears and pulls his bloody fingertips away.

“Babybird? Babybird?” Jason asks a little frantically. Tim doesn’t stir. Jason’s breath catches and his heart swells up in his throat when his fingers skitter over to Tim’s neck to look for a pulse. _Please, please, please_. Jason feels an immense wave of relief wash from his chest down when Tim’s pulse beats under his fingers. Jason absently realizes he smeared blood on Tim’s neck. He stays frozen for half a second before he dives for his cell phone.

“Come on, come on, pick up!” Jason mutters, squeezing his phone.

“Jay? What’s goin’ on?” Dick’s voice comes from the other end, sounding cheery as ever.

“Dick!” Jason gasps too loudly. “It’s Tim. I need you—you have to—please—” Jason can’t even think with Tim unconscious and bleeding in front of him. Tim has to be okay, he _needs_ to be okay. Jason can’t—can’t anything without Tim.

“Jason? _Jason_?” Dick sounds worried now. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t—I didn’t mean to—I had a nightmare—” This is Jason’s fault! If Tim isn’t okay, it’s going to be Jason’s fault, and the feeling is like waking up six feet under again.

“Jason, hey, Jason! Take a breath. Now tell me what’s happening.”

“Tim. He’s bleeding. He needs help, but I can’t take him to the hospital. His—his scars—”

“I’m on my way, Jason.” Dick says calmly. “Does Tim need any dressings, bandages?”

“It’s a head wound.” Jason’s voice feels distant, like he’s hearing it from the other end of a long hallway.

“I’ll be there in five minutes. Keep breathing, Jason.”

“I’m fine!” Jason says in a distraught tone. Dick doesn’t respond.

Dick is there in three minutes, and he helps Jason move Tim into his car. They drive in silence to the manor, where Tim is hurried off to the cave’s med bay. Jason sits in one of the chairs, but not too close. This is his fault. He can’t bring himself to look at Tim’s pale, still form on the bed, bandages making a mess of his long hair, some strands still matted with blood that dries dark brown on his forehead. _Jason’s fault_. They haven’t started interrogating him yet, but Jason knows it’s coming. And they should. This is his fault. The rage that is his constant companion comes back with a passion, but this time it’s all directed inwards. _Jason’s fault, Jason’s fault, Jason’s fault…_

_My fault._

//                      //                      //

Tim is okay. Jason isn’t. Tim had a concussion, but recovered after about a month. Jason feels like he’s crumbling more every day. Jason hurt Tim. He’s hurt him before, he’s hurt him now, and Jason has a heavy rock in his stomach that tells him he’s only going to hurt Tim again. Jason feels like he is poisonous. He feels like the fire that’s been eating away at his shell of a body his finally broken through, and now whenever he touches Tim, he’s burning him.

The worst part is that Tim forgives him. Jason is appalled by Tim’s refusal to blame Jason or hold any resentment towards him. Doesn’t Tim get it? Jason hit him over the head with a lamp! Tim had a concussion! And if not this incident, there was the last time Tim had to wake him up and Jason had kicked him in the stomach and bruised Tim’s arms from where Jason had grabbed and thrown him. Of course, there’s still a scar on Tim’s neck to speak for how ruthless Jason can be.

Jason tries. He tries so hard for Tim, because Tim is his world and without him, the fever delirium that had almost destroyed Jason before will have free reign. But the fire only grows worse. When Jason and Tim touch, Jason is filled both with Tim’s beautiful, calming cold and with disgust at himself, for the things he has done to Tim and for how Tim is so ready to forgive and forget. Jason can’t forget though, not with flames spitting inside his chest, not with the way the Tim wears the reminders of Jason’s failure on his skin. When Tim falls asleep in his arms that night, Jason can’t stop staring at the scar on Tim’s neck, the way the pink ridged line stands out against Tim’s porcelain skin. Jason sleeps with a bitter taste in his mouth that he can’t wash out the next morning.

Jason thinks maybe it will subside with time. If he throws himself into his relationship with Tim enough, maybe he can forget that he’s a time bomb waiting to explode, and the further away Tim is when that happens, the better. But when he’s sitting with his nose buried in Tim’s hair, or when Tim’s mouth is at his neck, all he can think about is how he seems to keep hurting Tim. It’s like he’s heard before: it’s impossible to kill a thought. There’s this ugly worm of doubt and fear wiggling its way between his heart and his ribs and sliding towards his throat, and he can’t look past it. It’s eating away at Jason, right along with the fire that burns more and more in him every day.

It becomes overwhelming, exhausting, and one day Jason realizes: he can’t stay any more. This fear of hurting Tim and the terrifying feeling that chills his stomach is just too much. Something in him is screaming, _screaming_ at Jason to get away before it’s too late and the damage he does to Tim is irreparable. Tim leaves for work, and Jason kisses him goodbye like he always does, and he tries not to let Tim see that he is falling apart inside. Then Tim is gone, and Jason packs his bag. He takes very little, because each item is laced with sense memories of Tim, and Tim is the reason Jason is leaving. He has to protect Tim, before Tim is burned by the fire within Jason.

Jason washes all the dishes, wipes down the counter, puts away Tim’s coffee mugs, and straightens their bedroom before he leaves. He wants to bury his nose in Tim’s pillow before he goes just to smell that unique coffee-Tim-shampoo-and-something-else scent that is so solely Tim. He doesn’t, because he’s afraid that if he does, the part of him that’s desperate to stay might overpower the rest of him.

The last thing Jason packs is his costume. He shrugs on his leather jacket, shoves his helmet in his duffle bag, and tucks his guns into their holsters. It’s time for him to go. At the door, it’s so hard. He knows Tim will be upset. He’ll be hurt, he’ll be betrayed, and he’ll feel alone. But Jason is banking on Dick and Bruce not being total idiots and recognizing that Tim needs help. Once Jason leaves, the hole in the family should knit itself closed. Jason will be gone, and in the long run, Tim will be happier and better off. Jason has to believe that.

So he leaves.

//                      //                      //

He goes to Roy for a while. They travel all over and fight crime together for old time’s sake. Without Tim nearby, the fire grows within Jason. Back in Gotham, he had been making a real effort to follow Bruce’s rules to please Tim. Now that he’s left, that all goes out the window. He and Roy mercilessly wipe out a human-trafficking gang. Jason doesn’t look back, and the fire only grows more. Some nights are worse than others, and while Roy has his own fair share of demons, he can’t replace Tim’s soothing presence. The only thought that soothes him is that Tim is hopefully better off now. Sure, he’s probably angry and looking for answers as to why Jason left without a whisper. Jason thinks that it will be better for Tim to always wonder than for him to experience the fiery rage of Jason Todd first hand once again.

A month turns into two turns into three and then four. Eventually, Roy has places to be, and their brief reunion is over. Jason is alone and in the wind again. He visits some of his more secretive safe houses across the European continent, but avoids any of the ones he knows or suspects to be on the Bats’ radar. He doesn’t want to see anyone from his “family,” because he knows anything he says or does will make its way back to Tim, and he’s avoiding that like the plague right now.

He still wonders about Tim, though. He has to fight to avoid hacking into feeds to watch Tim fly across rooftops at night, and he avoids looking at Gotham news. Jason suspects that with too much exposure to Tim’s brilliant figure, he’ll have no choice but to return. So he doesn’t look, and he doesn’t listen, which is why when someone from not-home finally tracks him down, he’s so surprised to hear what they have to say.

Dick just shows up one day, a month and a half after Jason and Roy parted ways. Jason is letting himself into his apartment that functions as his safe house here in Germany when he notices someone sitting on his sofa. He’s halfway through drawing his gun before he realizes that it’s Dick who is sprawled comfortably. He lowers his gun, but is obvious in not stowing it.

“Dickie. What do you want?”

“Hi, Jason. How are you? Nice to see you.” Dick says, giving Jason a pointed look. Jason scowls. “What the hell, Jay? Not a word, not a note, nothing. You could have been dead.” His face is tight with frustration.

“Been there, done that.” Jason says flippantly.

“ _Jason_.”

Jason sighs and tucks his gun into the waistband of his pants. He goes into the kitchen, ignoring Dick, and grabs a beer out of fridge. Dick follows, so Jason leans back against the counter.

“Did you come here just to lecture me, or what?” Jason asks coldly. He has very little patience for Dick or anyone else in their self-proclaimed family right now. “‘Cause I’m really not in the mood.”

Dick frowns. “You’re not in the mood? Jason, I came all the way from _Gotham_. Don’t you at least want to hear what I have to say?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well, too bad. Little Wing, you’ve gotta come home. I miss you. Bruce misses you. Everyone wants you to come back, when no one even knows why you left.” Dick says imploringly. Jason finds Dick’s statement a little odd. Why didn’t anyone know why he left? Hasn’t Tim been talking to them? Jason doesn’t say anything though, just clenches his jaw and folds his arms across his chest.

“Also…” Dick hesitates. “We could use you back on patrol. Things have been getting a little out of hand, not that Bruce will ever admit it.”

“You came all the way to Germany to ask me to be your patrol buddy?” Jason’s voice is disbelieving. “What’s wrong with your little army of teenage heroes? Patrol running past their curfews?”

“Cass is away in Asia. Steph and Harper are off patrol after… well, they haven’t exactly been getting on with Bruce. And Damian is away, too. As much faith as I have in Bruce, we can’t keep running patrol with just the two of us.”

“Just the two of you?” Jason knits his brows closer together. “What about Tim?” His heart gives a painful beat at the mention of Tim, but it is quickly washed out by the wave of unsettling suspicion when Dick gives Jason a look like he’s missing something obvious.

“Jason, Tim hasn’t been patrolling at all for the last month or so.”

“ _What?_ Why the hell not?” Tim _loves_ being Red Robin. Jason knows that he feels more at home in costume than he does out of it, so what could have happened to bench him for that long? “Is he okay?”

“Uh.” Dick’s eyes drop from his for a second before he looks back up. “I don’t really… that is—I’m not entirely sure.”

“You mean _you_ don’t even know? Jesus, Dick, don’t you talk to Tim at all?”

“I talk to him more than you do.” Dick looks Jason dead in the eye at that, and Jason’s stomach flips unpleasantly.

“Okay, you know what? We’re not doing this.” Jason pushes away from the counter, setting his beer down as he unfolds his arms. “I don’t have to justify myself to you. You’re not my _mom_. I don’t owe anything to you.”  

“Just like you didn’t owe anything to Tim?”

Jason is seeing red, and before he has time to think about it, he’s pushed right up into Dick’s space. He internally gloats over his extra few inches of height as he glares down at his “brother.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about Tim! You don’t know a damn thing about what’s between Tim and I.”

“Yeah? Well, right now I know more than you, since you skipped town and left Tim alone!” Dick doesn’t back down, frustration blazing in his normally-cool blue eyes. “Even if he won’t talk to me, I know he’s heartbroken that you would just leave him.” Dick pushes Jason back so that they’re no longer nose to nose. “How could you do that to him? He probably thinks you never cared about him at all, since you couldn’t be _bothered_ to even say goodbye!”

Jason lunges forward, gripping Dick by the lapels of his wooly coat and whirling him to push him against the wall. He glares at Dick with wild eyes for a moment, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Dick stares straight at him, but his breathing comes unevenly. Jason narrows his eyes, then releases Dick. He backs off, turns to face the sink.

“Get the hell out of my house,” he hisses.

“Jason…”

“I said _get out!”_ Jason flings something at Dick. Dick ducks in a fluid movement, and the item shatters loudly against the wall. Dick acquiesces, retreating into the hall with wide eyes and a small frown. Jason turns back to the sink, and doesn’t turn around until he hears the front door close. He grabs a broom and goes to sweep up whatever he broke. It’s a mug from the Red Robin restaurants. Jason and Tim had jokingly collected them, and when Jason had seen it at the market, he couldn’t prevent himself from purchasing it. It was a reminder of Tim and what he once had. Now it, just like his chance to be with Tim, lies in shards. Jason sweeps them away, but he doesn’t forget the things Dick said.

//                      //                      //

For the first time in five months and three weeks, Jason checks the feeds on Tim. He scans the news for anything about Red Robin, and is concerned when the amount of information present is unusually low. Even trash magazines and blurry photos dealing in information about the habits of Red Robin are a scarcity. Where has Tim been? Why hasn’t he been on patrol? Jason hates the anxiety brewing in his chest.

When Jason left, he had a plan. A shitty plan, probably, but it was a plan. He had relied on the rest of the goddamn Bats to not be as emotionally stunted as him. It is clear, though, as Jason combs through the feeds for even a whisper of Red Robin, that something in his plan went awry. And if Bruce and Dick and everyone else failed on their silently assigned roles, where did that leave Tim?

The dread that has been building in Jason’s stomach thickens, and he feels his heart sink like an anchor through molasses. _Tim._ What has he done? If anything happens to Tim, well… the whole reason Jason left was to stop Tim from getting hurt too much. He’s not sure how he’ll live with himself if Tim ends up hurt either way.

_My fault._

The familiar guilt Jason bears on a daily basis is back in full. He runs his hands through his hair and grips tight, pulls, as if to yank the guilt out through his scalp, but it only deepens.

_Tim. My fault._ If anything happened to Tim, if anything _has_ happened…

Jason slams his laptop shut abruptly. He has to find out. If he sits any longer and wonders, he thinks he will be consumed from the inside out. He doesn’t have to _talk_ to Tim, he just needs to see him, to know he’s alive and surviving. Jason has sacrificed so much to protect Tim from the flames that burn inside of him, but it will all have been for nothing if Tim is not okay.

He has to know.

//                      //                      //

Through the whole flight to Gotham, Jason is restless. The pervasive anxiety that blossomed at Dick’s visit only grows. He doesn’t sleep a wink despite the early hour, because the second he stills enough to close his eyes, the guilt roils and bursts painfully in his stomach and eats at the inside of his chest.

By the time he sets foot on the grimy Gotham ground, it is about the time at which the sun would peer above the horizon, but the thick clouds that forever darken Gotham’s skies block any hope of light at this hour. By the time Jason reaches Tim’s block and sets up shop on a nearby rooftop, the sky has opened up, and chilling sleet slides under the collar of Jason’s jacket and down his back. Despite the cold, Jason does not shiver. The heat that grips his heart is untouched. Jason watches for an hour, which stretches into four, which grows into eight before Jason even realizes. Desperately, he watches through Tim’s window, through his scopes, searching for any sight or sound to show the apartment is occupied by more than ghosts.

It occurs to Jason that Tim may no longer live here. It’s exactly the sort of change that Jason would  no longer be privy to once he cut all ties with this city and everyone in it. By the time night begins to fall, Jason is stiff and miserable and soaked, and the Bats that still do patrol will be out soon, so he elects to cut to the chase and get in closer. He grapples to the roof of Tim’s building and sets up surveillance tech he’d lifted off Roy.

He scans for any signs of life in Tim’s apartment, a murmur of a voice, the heat of a human being, anything. Nothing. Empty. Jason doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. If Tim’s not here, he must at least be out, right? If he’s out, perhaps this is Jason’s chance to find out what his babybird has been up to.

Well. Not his babybird any more, a sudden constriction of his chest reminds him.

When Jason reaches one of Tim’s windows, he’s surprised to see it’s the same as when he left. He would’ve thought Tim would’ve at least changed the locks, upped the security, made an effort to keep Jason out. _Unless, of course, Tim was never bothered to try and keep Jason out._ The idea of Tim waiting, sitting on his bed and hoping Jason will crawl through that window with an apology on his lips pierces Jason. The guilt rises up like bile in his throat for the millionth time.

_My fault._

Jason shakes the thought off as he disarms the familiar locks and traps and quietly eases himself into the hall below.

Everything is dark, dusty, as if no one has lived here for months. Maybe Tim did move out. Jason hopes on an off note that he isn’t breaking into some random citizen’s house. Then again, the traps were still on the windows. It would be unlike Tim to move out without scouring the place of anything suggesting his night job. Then again, nothing Jason found on his research about the last six months has suggested Tim has been himself, so. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

Even in the dark, Jason’s feet navigate the halls as if he had been raised there. A glance towards the foyer and living room and kitchen show a house not emptied of things, just emptied of… life. The whole place feels as if nothing has lived here in a long time. Dust prickles at Jason’s nose (the hood forgone in favor of his domino) and all the surfaces look as if they haven’t been dusted in ages.

Jason can’t shake the feeling that not only does the place feel of an absence of life, but also a heavy shadow of something more morbid. As if something had died here, forgotten. It fills Jason to the brim with dread. What ever happened after he left, he is now certain it is nothing close to his plan.

Jason is creeping down the hall when he hears it. A muffled sound, freezing him dead in his tracks. From the bedroom, he thinks. But what? Jason was sure his surveillance showed nothing, and yet—

There, again. Distinctly human. A quiet, choked breath?

_Tim._

Jason’s heart pounds in his chest. If Tim is here, Jason should go, he should leave while he can before everything goes to hell in a handbasket. The sound, again. All this time away, he felt his separation from Tim as if he lost a piece of himself, feeling drawn back like two magnets longing to snap together. The pull now is irresistible.

Without making a conscious choice, his feet draw him silently closer to the bedroom. The door is closed, and Jason listens closely. The sound again. It is heart wrenching, and not unfamiliar. Jason is reminded of nights when Tim whimpered in his sleep, at battle with his own demons while all Jason could do was thread a hand through his hair and whisper unheard comforts in Tim’s ear. How Tim escaped the sight of Roy’s tech, Jason doesn’t know, but he’s hardly surprised, and he’s isn’t thinking much about that right now. Instead, he is torn.

He should go. He should really, really leave. There is no scenario in which an unexpected reunion with Tim goes anything close to well. And yet. He’s not sure that he has the will to leave again, now that he’s here.

He should never have stepped foot in this apartment. He should have known it would’ve been too much, that he’d be sucked right back in. Damn it all to hell, he’s doing this for Tim!

But it is also for Tim that he can’t stop himself from easing the bedroom door open as quiet as he can. He thinks a silent prayer of thanks that Tim was always so diligent about keeping their doors oiled, because he’s able to crack the door without a sound. Peering in, he doesn’t see anyone. The room is dark, too, but different. 

It’s more musty here, as if something had been hibernating under the bed. The door to the master bath is closed, and a dim light peeks out from under the door. It is silent now. No more cries or whimpers. Jason creeps as silent as a spirit over to the bed. He is wrought with memories, of Tim, of them, of everything he’s ever loved and lost. The sudden emotion almost overwhelms him for a moment, and he has to sturdy himself.

This is it. It’s not too late. He can turn back to the hall and be gone before Tim ever knows he was here. He can go back to the way things were before.

But that is a lie. Nothing can ever truly go back to the way it was before.

He came here for answers, or that’s what he told himself. But he knows it’s more than that. He came here for Tim, and if Tim is on the other side of that door… Jason needs to know. He needs to know that Tim is okay. The fire that is his constant, hateful companion is back, but this time something different.

Something desperate, something wild. _My fault._

_Tim._

Jason opens the bathroom door.

_Tim, Tim, Tim._ It’s Tim. He’s right there. Time stops, and Jason is so focused on Tim that it is a moment before he truly sees him. Before he sees the blood.

Tim, too still, pale, blood covering the floor, Tim’s arms. Tim, with the pallor of death and without so little of a breath. Tim, without so much as a move or whisper. Jason sees the glint of something silver amidst the blood, aside Tim’s unmoving hand.

_No._

_No, no, no!_ It can’t be right, Jason just heard him! Jason is on his knees on the bathroom tile, which is slick with blood, Tim’s blood. He grabs Tim’s arm, darting a finger to his neck to check for a pulse. But his hands are shaking so hard it’s hard to tell.

“Tim!” he thinks he shouts. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was just _babybird._

He can’t be dead he can’t be dead he can’t—but Tim is still warm and Jason had just heard him so maybe—there might be time.

Jason has never felt so afraid in his life. Not when he died. Not in the pit. Not in the grave. Now. Jason has never been more thankful for anything than the comm he’d halfheartedly stuffed in his pocket before he left. He doesn’t even know why he brought it, he just… did. And as he radios in the distress call—bird down—he is reminded eerily of that night six months ago, when he last radioed a distress to the other Bats. For Tim, it seems, always for Tim.

_My fault._

Jason is sobbing, shaking Tim, yelling his name. He has never felt more helpless than in this moment, never regretted anything as much as leaving his babybird behind that night so many days ago. What has he done? What has he _done_? Jason is only half-aware that Tim’s wounds are still oozing blood, and he works only on autopilot to cover them, to apply pressure. But there is so much blood already, too much, Jason is sure, and it feels like he isn’t doing a _damn thing_ _and he’s losing Tim!_

He can’t think with the chant of _my fault my fault my—_ in his head, can’t do anything with Tim like _this_ in front of him—

He is numb with shock when he is shoved aside by a dark figure, cape billowing as he swoops to scoop Tim’s tiny, fragile form into its arms. _Bruce._ Then he is gone with Tim, off to get help, to do something, to do anything—

And there are arms pulling him up, pulling him away from that blood-soaked bathroom even as he thrashes, fights, but he is weak with panic, with grief, and when Nightwing—Dick—pulls him away, there is little he can do to stop him. Dick is saying words but none of them mean anything, none are audible over the ringing in Jason’s ears, over his heartbeat slamming in his head. _Alive, dead, alive, dead._ How dare Jason have the nerve to be alive here when Tim was—when he found Tim like that—

Dick slaps Jason squarely across the face, stunning him out of his spiraling thoughts long enough to hear him say, “we have to _go_.” Jason is voiceless but he allows himself to be dragged out of the room, out the window, down to the street. A bike. Dick’s bike. Dick is getting on it. Saying words. Urgent, panicked expression on his face. Too slow, Jason understands. Time to go.

He climbs on the back of Dick’s bike in a daze, only remembering to hold on at the last second as Dick tears onto the street and drives. Towards Leslie’s clinic, some distant part of Jason realizes. Thank God Tim lives so close. Then they are there and they run into clinic, Dick in the lead. Jason can’t think can’t understand can’t can’t—

Everything feels blurred, and suddenly they are there, outside the operating room, and Jason can see Bruce and Leslie working furiously, Bruce still cowled. Tim, _oh god._ Dick is saying something to Jason, but Jason can’t make sense of it, and finally Dick just shoves him back and bursts into the OR to join Bruce and Leslie. Jason thinks he should be helping, but he is numb, frozen. He can’t feel his body and his brain is still stuck, still seeing Tim lying in that pool of blood. Tim’s blood. Jason realizes absently that the blood is still on his hands. Tim’s blood is _literally_ on his hands.

_Oh, god. My fault._

Jason is not sure if it is ten minutes or an hour before Bruce comes out of the OR. He can see on the monitors a weak but steady heartbeat. Tim is alive. He’s alive. Dick follows Bruce out, and he looks as if he has aged a century. Jason does not look at them, though. His eyes are still fixed to Tim’s deathly still form. Oh god. Tim. Tim almost died. Tim almost killed himself, and if Jason had been even a _second_ later to the scene…

How could this have happened? How did they get this far off the deep end? Jason isn’t sure what the exact road going here looked like, but he knows that the end result is his fault. If he hadn’t left Tim, hell, if he had stayed away from Tim in the first place, Tim would never have done this. Dammit, despite everything, Jason still can’t do anything but hurt the people he cares the most about! He tried so hard to prevent his fire from burning Tim, but it wasn’t enough. Because of him, Tim almost died. _My fault my fault my fault!_ The buzzing in Jason’s skull keeps rising, and he feels like he might shake apart from the inside out.

Jason is jerked out of his thoughts when Dick spins him around.

“What the hell happened, Jason?” Dick doesn’t sound mad, he sounds anguished.

Jason opens and closes his mouth soundlessly. He can’t—he can’t—all Jason can do is think about seeing Tim lying on that bathroom floor, waiting for death, waiting to _die._ Because of Jason. Jason’s fault. Jason almost killed him. The thought brings a sudden rush of nausea surging through Jason’s body, and he wavers on his feet.

Dick’s eyes soften. “Jay,” he starts, but it is too much, everything all at once, and Jason is going to be sick. Jason shoves past Dick, stumbling for the door. Before he can leave, Bruce clasps Jason’s arm, but the panic is rising and Json needs out he needs to get out out _out_ —Jason yanks his arm free and is out the door, and then he’s running, anywhere but here.

Jason hasn’t been in Gotham for months, but he was born and raised here and his body knows the streets. He is not sure where he is going but he knows he’s getting the hell away from here. He guesses he shouldn’t be surprised when he ends up at a liquor store. He’s not even sure he has money, but Jason digs through his pockets and finds a few bills. He’s sure he’s a sight for the clerk, soaked to the bone, blood on his hands, and clutching a bottle of the cheapest shit he could find, but he is so far from caring right now. The clerk doesn’t say anything; it is Gotham after all. He gets his alcohol and a pack of cigarettes for good measure, and then he’s on the move again, until he finds himself in the dock’s warehouse district. It’s quiet here, save for the drumming of rain and sleet on windows. Jason drops on the edge of a dock, looking out over the water through the clouds and rain towards the dreary lights of the city.

Chill has set into Jason’s body, with the frigid rain crawling down his neck and soaking his clothes, but the burn of alcohol warms him a little. Outside of the protection of city buildings, the wind nips at his ears and pulls at his hair, but Jason can’t bring himself to care. When he can no longer feel his fingers, he’s not sure if it’s from the cold or the alcohol, but he is grateful. Too soon, the bottle is empty, so Jason lights up a cigarette. It takes a few tries thanks to the dismal weather, but when he finally gets it lit, he relishes in the acrid taste in his lungs. Anything to drown the feelings—and _dammit_ , he can’t get Tim’s image out of his brain. He can’t stop seeing Tim’s bloody wrists, the glint of that damned razor, the blood _still on his hands._  

The buzzing in Jason’s ears finally fades, and now he just listens to the agitated lapping of the waves on the dock. The water below is dark, and Jason wishes it would just swallow him whole. He wishes he never came into Tim’s life, never entered the Pit, never came back at all. Everything that happens to Tim is on him. If he could’ve just stayed away… but no. Tim pulled him in with his blue eyes and his strong but gentle touch and his reassurances that things would be okay. Jason was a fool for believing them. He should’ve known he was too toxic, too unstable. He hates himself for ever believing he and Tim could’ve been together.

The sky is still heavy and dark, and the air seems to only chill. Jason wishes the rain would just wash him away, that he could melt into nothingness and forget everything he has done, everything he has ever ruined. At this point, Jason should know better than to think he ever gets what he wants.

“Hey, Littlewing.” It’s Dick. Jason supposes he should’ve known he one of the bats would’ve found him eventually. Jason doesn’t say anything. He takes another deep drag of his cigarette. Dick sits next to him, legs dangling off the edge of the pier. “Tim is doing okay. He’s going to be out for a while, but he’ll live.” Jason feels immense relief flow through him, but it is quickly overtaken by revulsion at himself. The nausea bubbles up yet again, and Jason stares at the churning blackness below, trying to keep the bile from rising in his throat.  

“How could this happen?” Dick drops his head into his hands, shoulders forming a defeated slump. “Tim, he never even called. Why didn’t he call me?” Dick seems to be talking more to the water than Jason. Jason shakes his head, still dizzy with horror and self-loathing. “Jesus.” Dick says, falling silent. Jason feels numb all over now, the alcohol dulling but not stopping the pain entirely.

Jason takes another puff of his cigarette and wordlessly offers it to Dick. To his surprise, he accepts. They sit in silence for a few minutes, passing the cigarette back and forth. Finally, Dick speaks.

“Let’s go home.” Jason’s stomach roils at the thought. He can’t. _No, no._

“I can’t go to the manor.” Jason says, his voice raw from the alcohol.

“Okay, my apartment then.” Dick offers. Jason swallows and thinks about it. He supposes he can’t stay out here all night, though he’s really having a hard time making himself care. “C’mon, Jay.” Dick stands up and offers Jason a hand. Jason begrudgingly accepts the help to his feet.

As soon as he’s upright, the nausea is too much all at once. Everything in his stomach revolts, and suddenly all the alcohol he’s had comes up. It burns twice as much on the way out, and his whole body is trembling and sweaty by the time he’s done. Dick just keeps a comforting hand on his shoulder. Finally, his stomach is empty, and he wavers on feet. Dick, for once in his life, doesn’t say anything, just guides Jason back to his bike. Jason is out of energy, out of words, out of anything. He just wants to curl up and die somewhere. But he holds on tight enough on the ride to Dick’s apartment, and after some prodding from Dick, even agrees to take a shower to bring some heat back into his body.

By the time Jason gets out, he feels like complete and utter shit. He collapses onto Dick’s sofa and is out cold within the minute. As he falls asleep, he hopes his dreams at least will be quiet. But Jason never seems to get what he wants, and this is no exception.

//                      //                      //

Tim does not wake the following morning, and Jason thinks again about running. He could be gone within the hour, and out of the country in five. He doesn’t have to see Tim, to be reminded of what damage he has caused, of what great loss he almost created. But Jason knows he’s kidding himself. He owes it Tim to stay. He created this, he better damn well be there to at least face the music.

But _damn_ if Jason isn’t terrified to see Tim. He has no idea what Tim will say. Will Tim even want to see him? What if Tim hates him for leaving? He certainly deserves Tim’s hate, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to face it. Still, once Jason wakes from his night of drinking, he’s back at the clinic. They’ve decided to keep Tim there rather than take him to the manor. Jason wonders whose idea that was. But then he thinks about Tim’s apartment and the blood and—

Suddenly Jason is on his feet. Tim’s apartment. He takes to the rooftops because he doesn’t have his bike, and he enters through the same window he as he did the night before. He feels a heavy pang as he walks down that same hall, unable to stop thinking about the way he found Tim just laying there. When he enters the bathroom, he has to swallow hard to fight the ill feeling in his stomach. Blood is pooled on the white tile, the metallic scent strong in Jason’s nose. Jason thinks he might be sick again, but he pushes the feeling down. Now is not the time to have feelings. He’s seen plenty of blood in his lifetime, even Tim’s blood. Thus is the life of a vigilante.

He grabs a towel and some bleach and sets to work. It takes him a good part of the hour to get the floor clean. The blood seems to have seeped into every surface it touched, and Jason has to really scrub to hide any hint of what happened. He thinks he has his stomach under control until he finds the razer. It is still sitting in a pool of blood, and his stomach _lurches_ when he picks it up. He can hardly bear to look at it, let alone touch it, but he manages to dispose of it without vomiting. But he gets rid of the razor and moves on, scrubbing and spraying and bleaching until the room no longer smells of blood and any hint of what transpired is gone.

It’s the least he can do.

The he is back to his vigil at Tim’s room. At first, he just sits outside, unable to lay eyes on Tim lying there, so vulnerable and small. Then, Bruce has to go and Dick is nowhere to be seen and Jason just can’t stand for Tim to be there with no one to watch, so he ends up alone in Tim’s room. He sits in a chair at Tim’s bedside, watching the faint but steady rise and fall of Tim’s chest as he breaths in-out-in-out. He doesn’t look at the bandages wound around Tim’s wrists.

When Leslie comes in to check on Tim, Jason doesn’t leave. He does turn away when she changes the bandages, but as soon as she’s done, his eyes are glued again to Tim’s sleeping face. He looks, really looks, and hates a lot of what he sees. He’s spent enough time around Tim to know how to read sleep deprivation from his eyes, and to see how little Tim’s been eating from the sallow pallor of his skin, and the stress in how tightly his skin is stretched across his cheekbones. It paints a troubling picture of how Tim has been living.

It looks to Jason like Tim has been letting himself decay, like he just _stopped_ taking care of himself. Jason knew that Tim has always had a sort of reckless abandon towards his own health, but this is another level. Rather than just neglecting to take care of himself, it looks like Tim has been actively trying _not_ to take care of himself. It scares the hell out of Jason. Tim is so precious, so important, how could he ever just throw himself away like that?

It pains him, and Jason’s fingers flutter out, desperate to brush Tim’s skin, to just feel that his babybird is still here. He stops himself though. He abandoned Tim. Regardless of his intentions, that’s what happened. He doesn’t deserve to even tough Tim. Then, though, Jason thinks of how the first time he’s touched Tim in the last six months was to stop his bleeding, to try and save him in the aftermath of this disaster. If Tim had died, if that had been the last time Jason ever touched Tim, Jason isn’t sure how he could’ve lived with himself.

So Jason reaches forward those last few inches and brushes his knuckles along Tim’s arm. He thinks back to when he and Tim were still together, what feels like a lifetime ago. He thinks about running his hands down Tim’s arms, bringing them up to toy with his hair, the feel of Tim’s hand in his.

_Shit_. Jason has really missed Tim. How horrible to be reunited in this situation, though.

For the first time since Jason’s been here, he looks at Tim’s arms. Gauze is padded thickly on the inside of Tim’s forearm, secured in place by bandaging wrapped around his arm. Jason wonders what the scars will look like, what the wounds look like right now. Jason brings his hand down to Tim’s, squeezes gently. Oh, how he has missed this—holding Tim’s hand, feeling his warmth.

Jason realizes that he is totally, entirely screwed. He was a damn fool to think there was ever a chance he could stay away from Tim, to be happy without Tim. He needs Tim like he needs oxygen, and it is only now, holding Tim’s hand for the first time in months, on what could’ve been Tim’s death bed that he realizes this.

_Shit_.

Jason stays like this, holding Tim’s hand for a while, willing Tim to be okay. He’s not sure what the hell is going to happen when Tim wakes up, but he is sure now that he’ll be here when he does. No more running. Jason Todd is here to stay.

 


End file.
